


Bobby, I Think We Have a Problem

by writing1swat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Cursed Dean, Gen, the joys of babysitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing1swat/pseuds/writing1swat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this art <strong>http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/washedstone/70696988/8469/8469_original.jpg</strong></p><p>Dean gets hit by a spell that splits him into seven separate nine year old versions of himself. While Bobby does the researching, Sam gets stuck with the hard part – babysitting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bobby, I Think We Have a Problem

**Author's Note:**

> There's this awesome artist on livejournal named Washedstone. One of her artwork inspired me to write something. :)

Sam counts in his head. There’s one…two…three…he sees seven Deans. 

“Are you sure this is all of him?” Bobby asks, scratching the back of his neck as he looks in his living room. He sees a Dean pushing another Dean down to the floor and immediately goes over to stop the fight. “Hey, now break it up.”

The Dean in his hand struggles to get free. Bobby tightens his grip and the kid winces. He stops fighting but glares at the other Dean who is free. “He took my bear! I want it back!”

“No! It was mine! You took it from me first!”

Bobby shakes his head and sighs. Boy was this fast giving him a headache. “Alright, look-“

He gets cut off when Dean decides this is the perfect moment to slam his foot down on Bobby’s bare toes. Bobby lets go with a yelp. Damn kid has shoes on still. “Son of a b-“

“Really, Bobby? You’re gonna curse in a house full of impressionable kids?” Sam says.

Bobby glares at Sam. He looks down at his toes. 

One of the Dean’s on the couch says, “Bitch!”

Bobby snorts. “It’s not a house full of impressionable kids. It’s a house full of Dean. There’s a difference. See?”

Bobby turns back to the living room. Seven goddamn Dean’s. There’s no way he’s babysitting that many. It’s bad enough when there’s only one of them walking around. He turns around and starts to leave. 

Sam follows him. “Wait. Where are you going?”

“You want your brother back to normal, don’t you? Well someone has to do the research to fix this mess,” Bobby says.

“I thought I was gonna do that. We can’t both do it. Who’s going to look after him, I mean, them?”

Bobby grins when they reach his study. “You are,” he says, then proceeds to slam the door in Sam’s face. The kid’s shocked look is priceless.

For the record Sam hates babysitting.

It doesn’t make a world of difference on who it is. He absolutely hates it. And babysitting your cursed brother? Really…really sucks. Of all the spells Dean just had to run into. Sam shakes his head as he watches Dean no. 1 run around chasing Dean no. 2. They’re playing tag he thinks. 

Dean no. 3 is sleeping curled up on the floor by his feet.

Dean no. 4 is sitting in Sam’s lap sucking his thumb and well…looking kind of adorable. It makes Sam want to take a picture and show it to Dean when he gets back to normal. Maybe he could use it as possible leverage in the future. 

Dean no. 5 is sitting on the edge of the couch watching TV, his tiny legs dangling.

Sam looks around. He can’t see Dean no. 6 or 7. He lifts Dean no. 4 off him and stands up to go searching. 

“Dean?” he calls and everyone stops what they’re doing. All heads turn to Sam in question. Sam could slap himself. “I uh…no, I mean…” he tries, then stops. Yeah this isn’t going to work. He weaves around the Dean’s playing tag and goes to the next room.

He finds one of the missing Dean holding a jar of cookies. Sam smiles when Dean sees him. Dean ducks his head, a faint blush on his cheeks for being caught. Sam squats down. “It’s okay, Dean, you’re not in trouble. You can have a cookie before dinner.”

“Really?” Dean’s voice is hopeful.

Sam nods. “Yeah.” He hopes Bobby finds a way to fix this before dinner.

Dean opens the jar and fishes out a cookie. He hands the jar over to Sam who gratefully takes it. Once Dean no. 6 is walking back to the living room where the others are, Sam sets the jar down and continues the search for the last Dean.

“Dean?” he calls out.

He’s almost searched all the rooms in Bobby’s house now and still he can’t find Dean no. 7. Sam is about to call Bobby for help when he sees Dean in the corner hunched over with his back to Sam. Sam feels relieved he’s found him. 

“Hey, Dean, what are you…” he trails off once he sees something metallic glint in the light. “Dean…?”

Dean turns around and Sam sees him playing with a gun. “Hi, Sammy.”

“Oh, shit,” Sam says and rushes over. He takes it away from Dean in one fluid motion. Luckily the gun still has its safety on. He sighs and slumps down beside Dean. 

Dean looks longingly at the gun. “I was just cleaning it.”

Of course even de aged to nine, Dean still cares about the cleanliness of his weapons. Sam should have figured. He gets up to his feet and holds out his empty hand. “Come on, Dean.”

Dean looks at it for a moment before taking his brother’s hand. “I want it back, Sammy. It’s dirty,” he states.

Sam snorts. “Yeah…I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Dean pouts and it looks so adorable on his face that Sam has to suppress the urge to giggle.

“Because you’re nine. Nine year olds don’t play with guns.”

“Dad handed me a gun when I was eight,” Dean points out, then adds almost indignantly, “And I wasn’t playing with it, stupid. I was cleaning it.”

“I’ll give it back to you when you’re normal again,” Sam says.

“When will that be?” Dean asks.

“When Bobby finds a way to make you normal.”

“And _when_ will that be?” Dean repeats.

“I don’t know. Soon I hope,” Sam replies.

They get back to the living room and wait. Bobby comes wandering out an hour later.

“Looks like it’s one of those spells you gotta wait for to wear off,” he says. “It could be a couple more hours or even days before it does.”

Sam looks around, horrified at the thought of having to watch his brother(s) for longer than a day. “I really hate witches, Bobby.”


End file.
